


Fade Away

by sunalso



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, ghost Buffy Summers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Buffy died in 1965 and has been haunting Sunnydale ever since. Spike arrives in 1997, looking to bag his third Slayer. Together they discover that death is only the beginning.Beta'd by Gort.





	1. Chapter 1

Death was boring.

Buffy hadn’t meant to die. She’d been the Slayer for an entire month in 1965 when her Watcher had dragged her to a sleepy California town and told her that the Hellmouth under it might be waking up.

It hadn’t, but the vengeance demon that had twisted Buffy’s head off had done an excellent job of ensuring that if the Hellmouth ever opened, Buffy would have a front row ghost-seat to the fun.

 Yay.

The worst part was that she’d just been going to grab ice cream at the parlor, not out to Slay, and now was forever doomed to wear her bright green shift dress with the whiter peter pan collar for all eternity. She didn’t even have a bra on, or tights. At least she’d been wearing clean underwear. Her mom had probably been so proud of that.

Not that Buffy knew where her mom was in 1997, more than thirty years after Buffy had died. She also didn’t know where the vengeance demon was, the stupid thing had scuttled off, and Buffy didn’t even have the first clue why the demon had killed her, let alone how she’d ended up a ghost.

After a lot of very lonely years of Buffy floating around being completely unable to affect the world at all, the Hellmouth had, at last, started to rumble. Buffy had nearly died—it was a figure of speech—when she’d found some of the demons could see her. Lately, a few had even been able to hear her. Both at the same time hadn’t happened yet.

There was even a new Slayer in town. Kendra was all work and no play, and Giles, her Watcher, seemed to appreciate that about her. Buffy had tried speaking to her a couple of times, especially after the Master had nearly taken her out. Willow, Kendra’s sort of friend, had saved her, and you’d think near-death would have put Kendra more in tune with the afterlife, but no dice.

Today, Buffy was hanging out in the corner of the Bronze, watching Kendra as she pretended to be normal. The music was loud and obnoxious. Buffy hated that she still looked the same as when she’d died, but that her mind had obviously aged. Maybe she could eventually spook kids into getting off her lawn.

Nothing seemed to be happening, Kendra’s mysterious vampire with a soul helper Angel wasn’t even around, and Buffy turned to leave, thinking she might walk down to watch the ships come and go at the docks. She couldn’t leave that way. She couldn’t leave Sunnydale period. But she could imagine.

Just as she turned to walk through the back wall and out into the night, a tingle rushed down her spine.

She whipped back around, her hand going for a stake that hadn’t been there for decades. Frowning, she shook her hand and scanned the crowd. It didn’t take her long to find the source of what was making her long dormant vampire-senses go crazy.

The vamp was stalking Kendra, who seemed completely unaware of him. Which should be impossible. Buffy was dead, and she was hyperaware of him. With black leather and bleached hair, the guy looked like bad news. His eyes followed Kendra, and he frowned like he was unimpressed. After a moment he went and spoke to another man, who Buffy realized also must be a vamp, even though she couldn’t sense him like she could Mr. Bad News.

This should be interesting.

After a few moments, the other vamp left with a girl. Buffy didn’t worry too much about it. People died a lot, and there was nothing she could do to stop it as a ghost.

The vamp making her tingle retreated to a place against the wall, only sort of keeping an eye on Kendra, Willow, and Xander. Buffy studied him. He was cute, with his slicked back hair and sneer. She’d never been into the greaser boys, but this guy rocked the look. He was certainly interesting, and Buffy would bet he’d been alive for even longer than her. She hadn’t had a boyfriend before becoming the Slayer and then becoming very dead, and this vamp certainly wouldn’t have been her type back then. Now, though, she liked looking at him.

A lot.

The vamp checked the clock, then walked straight over to the Slayer and said something near her that had Kendra running out of the building, stake in hand.

Buffy followed, standing back to watch Kendra take out the other vamp from the Bronze in her methodical way while his victim ran to safety.

The vampire dusted, and Buffy smiled because she could sense the other vamp lurking in the shadows.

He strolled into the light, cigarette in hand, and laughed.

“Who are you?” Kendra demanded, her stake rising.  

“Spike,” he said evenly. “And you’re…boring.”

Buffy giggled. This vampire was fun.

Kendra’s brows drew together. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

“Obviously. Now run along. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

Spike disappeared back into the darkness, and Kendra sighed.

Buffy ignored her and trotted after Spike, with vague plans of following and spying on him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been somewhat of a peeping Tom, because while there was next to nothing she could do with her ghost-body, she could watch other people get naked and get it on. And she wouldn’t mind seeing what Spike looked like under his clothes.

She caught up with him as he tossed the butt of his smoke on the pavement and turned a corner into another alley.

Halfway down it, he spun to face her. His eyes focused right on her, and Buffy bit her lip to keep from smiling. Spike could see her!

“Who the fuck are you?” he growled. “And why are you dressed like an extra from Beach Blanket Bingo?”

“Buffy,” she said, not expecting a reply, because her luck probably wouldn’t extend to him hearing her as well as seeing her. His comment about her clothes had been super unnecessary. She self-consciously ran a hand over her long, blonde hair.

“Is…that an answer?” Spike looked puzzled.

“You can hear me?”

“Of course I can, you bloody bint. You’re standing right there.”

“Buffy is my name. And this was the height of fashion in 1965.” The tiny bow in her hair was perfect, and her white ankle boots really made the outfit. “Stones and glass houses,” she added.

“This look is timeless.” He took a step towards her, but she only settled her hands on her hips. It’d been a long time since a vampire could frighten her. “What are you?” he asked. Another step.

“Ghost.”

Spike shook his head. “Slayer.”

“That’s Kendra. I’m just…dead.”

“Join the club.” He reached his hand out very slowly, then poked at her shoulder.

To Buffy amazement, he pushed her back a step, and she felt the touch. A sharp prod. Spike snatched his fingers back as she gaped. “How did you do that?” Warmth spread from his touch and swept through her body, leaving her achy and needful in its wake. There was a pulse from between her legs, and her breasts felt heavy. “What’s happening?” she asked.  There hadn’t been any…feeling of anything, for decades. Not the chill of the wind, nor the warmth of the son, and nothing even close to lust.

Spike lifted one brow as his eyes looked her up and down. “Fuck if I know.” He reached for his crotch and adjusted himself with no shame. Buffy whimpered and bit her lip as her pussy pulsed with wanting. Her panties were soaked and sticking to her. Spike’s nostril’s twitched. “I can’t quite…your scent’s faint. It’s Slayer, sweetness, and desire.” The last was a deep rumble.

He reached for her again, and his big hand cupped her breast. Her body trembled. “Spike,” she whispered. “I don’t understand. Nobody’s touched me for more than thirty years.” Her breath, her entirely unneeded breath, caught in her throat, and she moaned as she arched her back into his touch.

“Don’t know why you think I’d know any sodding thing about it. I came here to kill a Slayer.” He paused. His eyes, which she couldn’t make out the color of in the moonlight, searched her face as he continued to fondle her tit.

“You can’t kill me. I’m already dead.”

“Right. But…I want to fuck you.” He closed the distance between them, and his other hand went beneath her skirt, rubbing at her clit through her soaked panties. “I’m hard as nails for you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Don’t know you, but I need…”

Buffy thrust her hips against the hand touching her. She needed too. Her belly was tight, the nipple he was playing with was a perfect knot of want, and her clit was nearly painful it was so sensitive. “Oh,” she said, her hands finally lifting to rest against Spike’s chest. “Oh, please.”

The fingers between her legs pushed under her panties and his cold finger, rough against her clit, was all it took.

She gasped as waves of pleasure shattered her apart. She leaned heavily against.

“That’s a luv,” Spike said softly. “Get my fingers wet.” His hand continued to pet her pussy. “You’re going to be getting my prick soaked next.”

“More,” she gasped, and Spike grunted, his hands going to his belt.

Buffy trembled.

His zipper lowered, loud in the dark alley.

And then she was nowhere.


	2. Chapter 2

One second Buffy was there, and the next she was gone.

Spike groaned in frustration. Bloody sodding ghost.

She’d come and then flitted off, leaving him with a full prick and nothing but his hand for company. In a bleeding alley, of all places. What a crock.

He stumbled over to the closest brick wall and leaned his forearm against it, which put his hand at head height. The scent of Buffy’s arousal went from fading to full force. Spike sniffed at his fingers as he wrapped his other hand around his prick. Her arousal was still all over him.

Beat the fuck out of ectoplasm.

Spreading his feet to keep himself from falling over, he closed his eyes and stuck the two fingers richest with her juices in his mouth as he stroked his cock. His balls tightened within seconds. The trembling of her limbs and the sheer surprise on her face as she’d come had been sweet. He relived that moment over and over until his prick jerked in his grasp and his release spattered the wall.

It was like she’d never been touched before, his little ghost.

Slayer ghost.

Spike tucked himself away, not feeling very relieved. Her pussy had been warm, and he desperately wished he could have felt it embracing his cock.

He hoped he saw her again, but spooks often didn’t last long. How she’d been floating about since that dress had been in style was a mystery. He hoped she’d turn up again soon, so he could show her a right good time. He’d wager she’d not had a cock before, and he’d make it good for her. Make her scream.

The thought put a spring in his step.

For two paces.

He stopped as quickly as if he’d smacked face first into a brick wall.

What the bleeding hell was he thinking? He’d gotten Drusilla here by the skin of their teeth so she could bathe in the Hellmouth energy, topped off by a pint or two of Slayer blood. Which, it turned out, wouldn’t be terribly difficult to get. The Jamaican Slayer had no style. She wouldn’t fight dirty, and that would be the end of her.

The ghost with her emerald eyes and glossy hair had been…a distraction. The damn birds had probably planned it that way.

Spike dragged his hand down his face. He’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. He pulled his soft-pack of reds out of his pocket, tapped it against his palm a few times, and shook out a cig. The warm rush of smoke into his lungs and the flood of nicotine helped him quell his instinct to vamp out and go ghost-hunting.

Not that he’d know what to do if he found her. Not get distracted by her quim again, that was certain. Slayers were trouble, dead or alive.

He blew out a stream of smoke and turned on his heel, heading for the faint sounds of a bar. He didn’t need a drink, but Dru did.

****

Spike had picked a girl that looked nothing like Buffy. Not that he’d thought about it. No, really. He hadn’t. It’d just turned out that way.

“Where are we going?” she asked, voice slurred.

“Don’t worry about that, Sheila,” he said, rather chuffed he remembered the bint’s name. The girl giggled. “Hey, luv, do you know any ghost stories about these parts?”

“Scary stories? Not about Sunnydale. Nothing happens here.”

They were at a stoplight, and Spike turned to stare at the girl. What bloody rock was she living under? “Nothing?”

“Nope. Stupid small town. I’m moving to Los Angeles the first chance I get.”

She was never getting that chance, but Spike wasn’t ready for her to know that just yet. “Bet you want to be a star with that face.”

Sheila beamed. “You’re fucking right.”

Spike somehow survived the rest of the drive to the warehouse. Once there, he sat for just a minute, banishing all thoughts of the bloody ghost—Buffy—from his thoughts. How she’d tasted, her scent, her sad eyes, the sound of her moans. Especially his intense desire had to go. It’d been a spook’s trick, to distract him from killing the Slayer.

Sheila slid across the seat to paw at him. “You want to make out?”

He turned to look at her. Everything about her was wrong. Her hair, her eyes, the disgusting smell of bar-floor that clung to her. “I want to kill you,” he said, enjoying the way her eyes widened with fear far more than anything else the girl had done. “I can’t. You’re a present for my dark princess.”

Drusilla. He loved Dru, and he was going to make her well again.

Grabbing the front of Sheila’s shirt, he swung open the door of the DeSoto and dragged her, screaming, out of it. From the boot, he removed enough rope to bind her flailing hands and ripped enough fabric from an old shirt to gag her. Once she was restrained, he dragged the girl inside the building to the room he was sharing with Dru.

She was sitting on the bed and clapped excitedly as Spike yanked the girl over to a corner and strung her up with chains.

“I brought dinner,” he said, taking Dru into his arms and kissing her deeply.

When he drew back, Dru was grinning impishly.

“My Spike has been busy.”

“You’ll eat, won’t you?” he asked, cupping her cheek. An uncomfortable memory of the ghost, warm and wiggling on his finger, flashed through his mind. He pushed it aside. He loved Drusilla and Drusilla alone.

“Everything is so strange here,” Dru sighed. “Little girls being out past their bedtimes.”

“I don’t think Sheila’s parents care what she's doing.”

Dru laughed. “Little blonde girls. Dressed in silly frocks.”

Spike froze. “Dru…” They were vampires. Being faithful was relative. So why was he bloody uncomfortable about Drusilla knowing anything about Buffy?

“All is fair,” Dru sing-songed. “All is fair. All is fair.”

“You should eat,” Spike said, gruffer than he usually was with Drusilla.

“I will, later.” Dru pouted prettily, and Spike pulled her into his arms.

He kissed her, roughly. “What do you want first, my darling?”

“Nothing of yours.”

She pushed him away, and he flopped back on the bed. He needed to kill—banish?—that blasted ghost. Or maybe he’d fuck her first. Get her out of his system, then right when Buffy thought he was wrapped securely around her little finger, he’d send her on to the next life.

That sounded pleasant. Especially the fucking part.

Sheila cried out, and Spike raised his head. Dru had bitten the girl and was drinking.  Her beautiful, feline demonic features and golden eyes never failed to make him hungry for things beyond blood.

Sheila passed out, but her heart was still beating when Dru let her go. She padded towards the bed, but only came to sit, her legs drawn up, beside Spike.

“Are your pixies talking?” he asked, turning on his side and propping his head on one hand.

“They only told me you’d been naughty while you’re out.”

“I’m always naughty.”

She fixed her eyes on him and licked the blood from her lips. “Not always.”

“No?”

“You’re all silver fishies, and I’m a nightingale.”

Spike walked his fingers over to her ankle. “That makes no sense.”

She giggled.

“I like that about you,” he drew the words out and gave her what he hoped was a seductive smile.

Dru looked down at him, and her demon receded. “We shouldn’t have come here.” She sounded tired and resigned.

“It’s to get you healthy. You’ll be hunting on your own again in no time. And we can play all the games you like best. It’s been far too long since I’ve tortured you.” That was far from his favorite, but Drusilla needed it. She didn’t know he loved her unless he hurt her.

Bloody Angelus.

Dru reached her hand out to him, and he took it, drawing her down onto the bed with him.

“I’m going to make it better,” he vowed, gently stroking his beloved’s face.

“You already have.”

He didn’t argue with her, only put his arm around her and held her tight.

Spike didn’t know who he was without her.

A picture of Buffy dance through his mind. She looked different than earlier. More tired. Her hair was tied up and a wound marred on her cheek. In flickering firelight, she almost smiled at him. The images were gone almost as soon as they formed.

Damn it, he was going to throttle her. Might not be very effective, but it’d make him feel better. Dru let out a small noise, and he looked down at her, but she was already asleep. Poor lamb, a bit of warm blood in her, and she was out.

Spike kissed her forehead.

He was her knight, and he would never be anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Buffyverse Bingo 2019. I apologize that this doesn't have a schedule at the moment, and I'd suggest subscribing if you want to stay up to date on when I post chapters. This fic will have plenty of smut and humor, but will be a bit darker than my usual, and the HEA is maybe not what anyone, especially Buffy and Spike, is expecting. The Spike/other is because it's S2 and he's with Drusilla, nothing graphic is on page. CW as technically Spike is cheating on Drusilla, if that bothers you.


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